They had always been friends for as long as they could remember. Marcel gazed into her eyes and saw only blankness, perhaps brief flickers of distant recognition. Their minds had grown old together as they reached out for words...but they had forgotten how to use language. Things seemed fractured now as the train entered Kings Cross station. EXISTENCE was broken at Euston and then to Piccadilly and a taste of metal lingering in the air. Next, a change at Paddington and then onto a suburb and then California and then nowhere. Then a cat walked down the road and told the butcher that his time will come, and d'ya know summit? He was the same as all the other butchers, and the ones after that one.
No comments:
Post a Comment